Riding
by awesomesen
Summary: Denmark and Norway have Plans. Now if only Norway would get on the bike so they could get going, that would be awesome. Alternative title: Sweden Doesn't Have A Royal Yacht, What A Loser, Let Norway And Denmark Show You How It's Done.


Written for my friend BRENDA's birthday, it's everything she likes in one story: Denmark being fat, Iceland being adorable, IKEA, sex in chairs, and porn. I'd like to say it's better than it sounds, but it's really not. (eyeroll)

* * *

"No," Norway says.

The bike had once been painted red, but time had stripped it away and darker, leaving the whole thing the colour of rust. It was old: you could tell by the lack of frills, the heavy looking crossbar and hub. The only adornments, such as they were, were a flat carrier over the back wheel and a little flag stuck in the frame of it. Denmark was sitting in the seat, one leg down as a brake and balance, and looked expectant. "It'll be easy! I'll go really slow, and you just hop onto the back." He gestures behind him, to the carrier. Designed for groceries, or possibly beer in Denmark's case- not other people, in Norway's opinion. Not when Denmark was steering.

"Nooor," Denmark whines, leaning over the handlebars. Norway doesn't move, and predictably, wins the staring contest that ensues. "I used to do it all the time with Faeroes and Green and…" Norway watches him decide not to say _and Iceland_. His poor baby brother. No wonder he's so timid around bicycles. He decides to visit Iceland after this: he can understand the boy's mistrust, _stupid Den_, but bicycles are cheap and eco-friendly, and Norway will coax him out of his phobia in a safe and nurturing environment free of Danes. After this. "—and even when I do fall, which I don't, it's at a really slow speed so it's safe, and it's not…" Denmark has been saying as Norway made plans, but stops when Norway abruptly moves forward, taking hold of the handlebars.

"Den," he says, "I'll ride the bike."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" asks the idiot, his eyes big and blue and clueless. He doesn't move from the bike. "'Cause it's a pretty long walk to the harbour…"

"You'll ride on the back," Norway says patiently. He watches Denmark puzzle that one out. He bets he knows how it's going. _Ride on the back? But it's my bike. And Norrr_—he imitates Denmark's I-want whiny tone in his head with irritation—_is shorter than me, so I should get to ride_, Denmark is likely thinking. And also about beer. And hopefully about other things, like the ship, so that they actually arrive tonight. "Well?"

"I'll look stupid on the back," Denmark says, flicking at a strand of hair like a vain idiot.

"You'll look stupid if I knock you out and tie you to the back," Norway says dangerously, and Denmark grins at him in his most annoying, trusting way.

"Aww, you wouldn't do that," he says. "But if it's that important to you, okay." What is wrong with this idiot? Why does he take every sincere threat for a compliment or sign of love? Because it was sincere. It was definitely sincere. Norway makes an impatient noise as Denmark takes his time dismounting the bicycle, and then climbs on himself. Adjusted for Denmark's annoyingly greater height, he feels wobbly and uncomfortable, but he's not about to ask Denmark to lower the seat for him. Before he can start teetering, he starts peddling, circling around Denmark's carport.

"Hop on," he says, hoping Denmark will jump for it and miss and fall into his garden. He considers speeding up to help that, but doesn't. To his mild surprise, Denmark manages this feat with ease, and the sudden additional weight makes him wobble. It's harder to bike like this than he had thought, but not impossible. "You're getting fat," he complains.

"I'm not!" Denmark sounds offended, as he knew he would. "I'm in great shape, look!" Norway glances back to see Denmark, side-saddle on the bench, has lifted up his shirt. Wobble. Norway turns his attention back to the road.

"That's disgusting. You've overgrown your borders. Stop moving around or I'll drop you in a ditch." He makes his slow way through Roskilde, gritting his teeth all the while at Denmark's irritating fatness. After a few minutes, Denmark starts chattering on about something unimportant, and Norway listens and doesn't reply. They're not going _slowly_—just slower than he'd like, slower than he would have biked alone. And possibly slower than Denmark would have biked, which is more annoying. Stupid Den, only owning one stupid bike. Denmark doesn't say anything about it, happily talking about the history and design of Roskilde's train station. What an annoying person. He should have skipped this whole trip and gone to visit Ice instead.

At last they arrive, Norway's calves aching, and as soon as they're both off the bike he shoves it into a port with vengeance. Then he locks it. By then, Denmark is already halfway onto the pier, where the yacht is waiting for them, glistening and clean. Not nearly as good as his own, but it's sort of alright. "My boss doesn't exactly know we're borrowing this," Denmark says as Norway trudges up. "But it's okay, she won't mind! No one's using it this week and this definitely counts as a diplomatic mission since I got the Kingdom of Norway to visit!"

"As usual, the _Danneborg_ is ugly compared to the _Norge_," Norway says, skipping Denmark's gushing and climbing the ramp to enter. The name is also clearly inferior, but that goes without saying. He looks around the deck, which is empty. He'd expect people to be flocking around, but then again, Danes probably couldn't appreciate a good ship enough to do that. Either that or, knowing their country lives in Roskilde, they're used to strange ships in the harbor. He has to admit the second is more likely. But only slightly.

"I think they're both great," Denmark says, following him. He leads the way into the ship, bypassing the royal apartments for a smaller set of rooms that Norway knows he uses for himself. He looks around the familiar sitting room with boredom.

"There's nothing interesting here, let's get going."

"I thought we could fool around a bit first." The idiot is practically sparkling. Norway grabs his arm and twists.

"Don't be an idiot," he says, knowing that's a lost cause. "We'll do that after we've gotten my ship."

And then, with the two royal yachts manned and sailing full speed down the Sound towards Sweden's pathetic sailboat…

"But then you'll be on the _Norge_ and we'll be seeing Sweden's dumb face and I won't want to fool around because I'll be so sick," Denmark says, cheerful as always when given the chance to talk about Sweden. The trick was to filter out the adjectives. But Denmark has a point. Once it comes time to harass the last member of Scandinavia, there won't be time for that sort of thing.

"We could fuck in his favourite chair again," Norway suggests.

"I think he replaced it with something from IKEA," Denmark says, saying IKEA like America says _diet cola_.

"So was that one." Norway watches Denmark take off his shirt with an expression of disgust. Denmark winning always makes him feel that way.

"It gave me a rash. Also it'll just break again."

Norway sighs with annoyance. He hates it when Denmark is right. "Fine," he says angrily, shoving the Dane into a much sturdier and less disgusting arm chair and undoing his pants. "But I'm fucking you, and we're going to have to do this fast or miss Sweden." Denmark looks like he's going to say something stupid, so he covers his mouth with his hand. He won't admit it, but he's been looking forward to this latest _terrorise Swedes_ plot for weeks.

He glares at Denmark until Denmark grins, rolls his eyes at him and pulls him from the chair, thinking about gags or tape or some way to shut Denmark up, preferably forever. He thinks this as they fuck, feeling the ship rock slowly around them, as he's in him, and imagines Sweden trying to scare them off in his pathetic little sailboat as he comes. Vikings and sailing and oh God if Denmark doesn't shut up he's going to kill him, for real, this time, stupid _weight advantage_, and then it's done.

Afterwards, as always, Denmark wants to flop all over the place like an idiot and sleep, but Norway shoves him off and sits up from the floor. "We're going to be late," he says.

"I love you," Denmark says, all floppy and stupid.

"Sweden loves you," Norway says scornfully, shoving Denmark's jeans at him and then, sort of hoping Denmark won't notice, giving him a kiss on the crown of his head. "Now let's get going."


End file.
